


Standard Tuning

by Whisp



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Explicit Language, Gen, He finds it hard to believe too, POV Outsider, POV Tony Stark, Team Bonding, Yes Tony is the Outsider
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2017-12-30 19:10:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whisp/pseuds/Whisp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For an assassin, Clint had a surprising disregard for personal space.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ~~This fic is finished, I'm in the stages of editing. Five parts total, I'll try to post a part every week.~~ Well, I failed miserably. Obviously editing did not go as smoothly as I thought it would. I'm so sorry.

For an assassin, Barton had a surprising disregard for personal space.

Tony hadn’t thought much of it the first time. Frankly, he had been too preoccupied picking out road rash and porcupine quills from Steve’s bicep to notice.

When they’d first gotten the call three hours ago, Tony had heard the word porcupine and had been sure they would be in and out in time for lunch. However, it seemed that SHIELD had forgotten to mention the words ‘giant’ and ‘on a rampage’ and hadn‘t flying into that battle been interesting.

Thank goodness for metal alloy suits of armour. Although the suit hadn’t stopped him from getting knocked around, it had at least prevented him from getting pin-cushioned like the rest of the team.

Steve had gotten the worst of it, but since he was also the best behaved about sitting through medical treatment, Tony called dibs on fixing him up. As an added bonus, he got a front row seat to watch Steve’s accelerated healing in action.

Pliers in hand, he gingerly crouched down next to Steve on the curb, stifling his wince when he caught the look of concern Steve shot him.

“Medic?” he asked.

One of the porcupines had caught him solidly across the back with its tail and had sent him head over heels down the street. His suit was designed to mitigate the force from hits like that, but it still hurt like a bitch. However since SHIELD medics gave him the creeps, he wasn‘t about to go to them for help. He always got the vague feeling that they were waiting for him to let his guard down so they could chip him with a GPS tracker. Tony shook his head. “It’s nothing a hot water bottle and a single malt won’t fix.”

Steve frowned, “Don’t be stubborn. I don‘t want you to injure yourself further by ignoring it. At least get someone to take a look.”

Considering he had literally just seen Steve wave off a medic with the arm that was missing a good chunk of it’s skin, his words seemed rather hypocritical. “I just twisted it. It’s nothing serious. Now shut up and let me fix you.”

“Only if you get an X-ray and see the doctor after we‘re done.” Steve countered, pulling his arm back like he was actually going to barter with it.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Try me.” Steve challenged, hugging his injured arm across his body. Already, Tony could see the wounds darkening to a bruise, like it was a day old instead of an hour.

Tony waggled the tip of his pliers at Steve, “I’m not going into SHIELD medical.”

“Any qualified medical professional counts.” Steve clarified. Nonchalantly, he tipped his head to examine the cluster of quills sticking out of his tricep, then flickered his eyes back to Tony, waiting for his answer.

Tony scowled. That fucker knew exactly how badly he was itching to get his hands on him.

“Doctor or no deal.” Steve said firmly.

He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine. Deal. Now hand it over.”

Obediently, Steve held out his arm, only a hint of a smile in his eyes.

Tony could call him out on it, but hey, new specimen. He tried to hide his excitement, but he’d been hearing stories of Steve’s healing since before he could even walk.

Before starting, Tony made a show of rolling up the sleeves of his under-suit. Then he laced together the fingers of his hands and cracked the joints. He picked up his tools with a dramatic flourish and peeled away the remnants of Steve’s uniform to study his arm, trying to decide the best place to start.

Over Steve’s shoulder, Tony saw Romanoff rolling her eyes. She was beside the SHIELD first response van tending to Bruce, the first aid kit propped open next to her. She looked distinctly unimpressed at his theatrics, but Tony was positive he would die of shock if he ever saw anything remotely resembling approval aimed at him. It was one of his favourite things about her.

Steve was quiet under his hands as Tony got into the rhythm of pulling and cleaning, staring unseeingly into the midday traffic beyond the cordoned off area. Two to one odds he was rerunning the battle in his mind. Tony had most of the battle feeds already uploaded to his remote server. Later he would let Steve drag him to the review that he would insist on after dinner.

Or, Tony studied Steve‘s slightly vacant expression, he could just be thinking about food. Tony already knew that Steve burned through calories faster than the average person, but what he hadn’t realized until Steve moved in was that he was actually part hobbit. Steve inhaled food at an alarming rate.

They should probably find him a sandwich or something, Tony mused as he rinsed the embedded gravel from the palm of Steve’s hand with a bottle of saline, carefully checking that none of the skin had healed over the debris. Maybe there was one in Bruce’s post-hulk kit. They really needed to put an agent in charge of feeding Steve and Bruce post-battle.

Tony continued idly on that train of thought as he worked his way slowly from Steve’s palm, following the damaged skin up his forearm.

As time passed, his back started to ache in earnest from his half crouch over Steve and Tony started wondering when he’d gotten too old for this shit. He was too lost in thought to notice that Barton had crouched down beside him until he placed a hand on Tony’s arm to steady himself, which ok, weird, but Barton did get knocked around pretty soundly during the fight, so Tony graciously let it go this time without comment.

Steve greeted him with a nod and didn’t even protest when Barton yanked a quill out himself, dropping it into the biohazard bag on the ground between them. Not even a flinch. Tony would kill for that kind of pain tolerance.

“How does the rest of you look?” Barton asked.

“Can’t complain. A few sore spots. The arm should be healed by tomorrow.” Steve answered, “Also I think Bruce is already asleep in the van, Natasha is bruised but standing, and Tony hurt his back.”

Tony glared. Traitor.

Barton glanced over at Tony. Even after a few months working together, it still made Tony uneasy that he couldn’t read anything from his expression, but he had gotten more used to it since his first acquaintance with the spy twins. Though from the speed that he’d been assessed, it seemed that he’d been disregarded for a more interesting subject anyhow. Tony tried not to be too offended.

Barton prodded lightly around the edge of the bruising, as if testing the newly formed skin. He pulled his arms back, resting them on top his knees and dropping his hands down between them. He was close enough that his upper arm brushed up against Tony‘s. “You ever had problems with it healing that fast?”

“Not that I know of. Truth be told, I‘ve never actually thought about it.” Steve frowned, “I guess sometimes things are a little stiff, but it goes away.”

Nodding, Barton asked, “No weakness after? Infection?”

Steve shook his head.

“Scarring?” Barton pressed.

“What’s with the third degree?” Tony interrupted, because Barton looked way too invested in the answers. Barton may be part of the Avengers now, but Tony wasn’t about to forget that he was an agent of SHIELD first, and Tony didn’t trust Fury in the slightest.

Barton settled back on his heels, spreading his hands out in front of him and shrugged lightly, “Just curious.”

Tony scowled, but Steve said, “I don’t mind. Bucky,” Steve paused, his lips pursed briefly, but pushed on, “Bucky, he always used to be fascinated. He paid more attention to it. Said I healed slower when it was colder. Or when I was tired. Or hungry.”

“So basically, most of the war?” Tony said dryly.

Steve snorted, “Yeah, I suppose so.”

Barton had looked up in interest when Steve mentioned Bucky, but soon he returned to eying Steve’s injuries, looking like he had more questions, so Tony jerked his head over at Natasha, who was holding up a package of gauze and looking pointedly at Clint. “Hey Barton, your assassin buddy’s waiting for you.”

Barton looked up and snorted, “Yeah, that ain’t happening. Natasha’s a terrible nurse. She thinks everything can be solved by splashing it in hydrogen peroxide and wrapping it really tight.”

“Huh. Here I thought she’d be more the alcohol disinfectant type.”

Barton rolled his eyes. As he uncurled from the ground, he grimaced and turned from side to side, rolling and stretching his back to crack the vertebra. “Fuck, that‘s stiff. I’m getting too old for this shit.” He commented, unknowingly echoing Tony’s thoughts from earlier.

With a final twist to the right, he straightened completely, gave them a quick nod goodbye, and took off in the opposite direction, kicking up gravel in his wake. A second later, Natasha sprinted after him, bandages and antiseptic clutched tightly in her hand.

They sure bred them weird at SHIELD. Tony shook his head. He finished pulling the rest of the quills, taped up the worst of the road rash, and sat back. “So how’d I do?” He asked.

Steve stretched his arm in front of him, rotating it back and forth to examine the trail of puncture wounds that wove its way up his forearm, past his tricep, and almost to his shoulder blade. The bruising was out in full force, but around the edges, some of it had already started to mottle and fade. He made a noise of approval. “Looks good. Thanks for cleaning it out.”

For a brief moment, Tony let himself be insanely jealous of Steve’s enhanced healing. But as he stood, he realized he wasn’t doing to badly himself. Already the pain in his lower back had relieved significantly since the end of the battle.

In fact, it felt good enough that he decided against ground transport and with a grin at Steve, Tony activated the cuffs on his wrist.

*

Fury had been right about one thing. They had opened up a can of worms after the Battle of Manhattan. Some days, it seemed like every maniac on Earth was coming out of the woodwork to make a name for themselves against the Avengers.

After the third call in the span of a month, Tony had given up and invited the rest of the Avengers into Stark Tower. It was easier than tracking them down before each battle, and it certainly saved on the jet fuel. He even had a room set aside for Thor on the off chance that he would return.

At Steve’s insistence, Tony remodelled three floors into a training room. The ceiling wasn’t high enough for him to do much manoeuvring in the suit, and the Other Guy had a tendency to dent the walls, but it was the best they could do and still remain in the city.

Steve ran the training like he was back in the army. He made them run laps at the start of each session. Tony hadn’t done laps since his second day of junior high. He was 3 years younger than the rest of the class, but the only one smart enough to forge a doctor’s note so he‘d never have to do it again. When he tried it this time, Steve had asked JARVIS to contact his doctor directly to confirm.

Despite the battle the day before, Steve had them up and in the gym by six. In the morning. Who knew someone so wholesome looking could be such a sadistic bastard?

“Why do I get the sudden urge to run and hide my homework?” Bruce asked as he stepped up beside Tony and handed him a steaming cup of coffee. He took a sip. It was strong, bitter, and just short of scalding.

Tony nodded, not taking his eyes off Steve, who was setting up what looked to be some sort of obstacle course. “Preaching to the choir, buddy. Well, actually, I never used to hide it so much as I sold the answers to the lazy kids. And not all the correct answers either, because that would just be suspicious.”

Bruce snorted around his cup of tea, “Why am I not surprised.”

“Dad said it was the entrepreneurial spirit in me. And then he shipped me off to boarding school.”

“Nostalgia. Good times.” Natasha said dryly from behind them, and both Tony and Bruce jumped. She was already suited up, her hair wound in a neat bun and weapons charged. She looked them up and down, eyebrows raised. “Working out in your pyjamas today, boys?”

“I‘m just here for moral support.” Bruce replied mildly. “Building security might not take too kindly to me participating.”

Tony held up a wrist and waggled it, letting the artificial lights glint off the surface of his bracelet. She nodded and started warming up her muscles, leaving the two of them to their previous conversation.

They watched her bend nearly in half, touching her elbows easily to the ground. Bruce twisted his lips to the side in faint amusement, “Ever feel like you’re slightly outclassed here?”

“Never. It’s all about how to even the odds.”

Bruce hummed, “No, I think I‘ll pass this round. I like my pants right where they are, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” Tony said, and activated his wrist cuffs with a chuckle.

“Hilarious.” Bruce deadpanned, and stepped back as the armour rapidly assembled itself around Tony.

He felt better once he hit the air, but it still didn’t make up for the fact that he was up at the ass-crack of dawn.

At least he wasn’t the only one looking rough. Barton stumbled in at 6:30, uniform pulled halfway up and his bow slung over his shoulder. Under Steve’s disapproving look, he muttered something about alarm clocks and frying pickles. Tony didn’t ask.

For the first half hour, Steve ran them through a quick warm up, then he made Tony take off the suit to run them through close combat manoeuvres.

The problem with throwing together a team with five very distinct fighting styles, not to mention personalities, was that they tended to get in the way other each other. A lot. New York had been a mixture of desperation and a crap load of luck, but that wouldn’t be enough to get them through in the future.

Close combat manoeuvres, Tony came to realize, involved a lot of experimenting.

They found out that Barton was surprisingly adept with Steve’s shield, and Natasha could wield Clint’s bow like a staff. Tony was no slouch at boxing, but Steve taught him the down and dirty version, how to leverage every advantage against a larger opponent. Even Bruce got involved, slowly walking through defensive moves with Natasha.

By the time it reached nine am, Tony’s clothes were soaked through with sweat, enough that he could peel them off and wring them out. He flopped back on a mat, legs splayed, and breathing hard. There was no way he was moving from this spot.

He ignored Steve and Bruce, who are standing over him discussing strategy. Barton was on Bruce’s other side, cleaning out a cut on his arm. It was minor, already healing. They didn’t get hurt often, not badly anyway, but they did get their fair share of minor wounds. You couldn’t play on their level and avoid things like that.

It wasn’t always feasible to get a SHIELD medic out there on their training days, and Clint, by his own somewhat reluctant admission, had had plenty of practice with minor wounds, stitches, and sprains in the circus.

Watching Clint treat someone was a contradiction in itself. Tony has always been a tactile person, but it’d been drilled into him young not to extent that touch to people, so he fiddled with machines, holograms, pens, tablets, but never people.

Clint for someone so private, had no such boundaries. When he treated someone, he tended to ran his hands over the wound feeling for heat or pain. He poked and prodded at their skin, pulling limbs this way and that. He didn’t wear gloves when treating them, claiming they interfered with his range of movement.

After he finished, he plopped down next to Natasha and stole a drink from her water bottle, making a face at the contents.

She had her head dropped to the right, stretching and rolling out the shoulder. Strands of her hair had escaped her bun and were falling over her eyes, and she glared at him from underneath.

The side of his lip twitched up, “Shouldn’t have left it open.” But he was already reaching up, sliding a palm across her bare skin, stopping when he reached the spot where the muscles of her shoulder meet up with her neck.

“Don’t.” She said, twisting away. “You don’t have to do that.”

He followed the movement of her body for a second longer, palm pressed against her damp skin, then broke away, dropping back onto his elbows. “I don’t mind.”

And Tony knew he wasn’t meant to overhear this conversation, but he was too invested at this point to stop. He strained to hear them over Steve and Bruce’s conversation, trying not to look like he was staring.

“Well I do.” She smoothed the tension gathered at his temple with slow strokes of her thumb. “You shouldn’t give it away so freely.”

With a tired smile, Clint shrugged. “Small price.”

“It has a way of adding up.” She warned.

“I can handle it.”

“Clint, if there’s one thing I’ve learned about you over the years, it’s that you’re a dumbass. So promise me that you won’t throw yourself in too far to get back.”

“Yeah, yeah, cross my heart, and all that jazz.”

“Clint.”

“Relax, Tasha. I got it.”

The conversation fell silent, so Tony went back to being jelly on the mat. He briefly considered cancelling the rest of his appointments and taking a nap right there. Maybe he could get Pepper to come and give him a massage. Maybe she would do it naked. “Hmm. Naked massage.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Tony opened his eyes and saw Barton standing at his feet, holding out a hand. He nodded. “I’d appreciate that, thanks.”

Barton laughed, “Come on, you’ll stiffen up laying there like that. Cool down and stretch it out a little.”

Tony waved off his hand, “I’m fine, I’m fine. You know there‘s a reason I fight in a suit of armour. So I don‘t have to use those muscles.”

“You’re going to handicap yourself if you don’t learn to fight without the armour. You can’t live in it 24/7.”

“Wanna bet?” Tony muttered.

Clint snorted, “Yeah, that‘s going to go over really well at your next shareholder‘s meeting.”

Tony pushed himself to his feet and started limping his way to the showers. Barton kept pace with him down the hallway and swung his arm across Tony’s shoulders, with absolute no regard for his personal space. Tony could feel the tackiness of his skin where it touched the back of his neck. He ducked out from under his touch, “Ok, hurrah for team bonding and all, but number one, you need a shower and number 2, you need it now.”

“Right, because you smell like roses, Stark.”

“Where do you think I’m headed?” He called back.

He stayed in the shower longer than usual, letting the hot water run over his sore muscles. By the time he left, only Clint and Steve were left in the gym, standing in the hallway talking.

Clint had a hand on his arm. With anyone else, Tony would immediately think he was flirting, but Steve had his ‘all my friends are dead‘ face on, and Barton was being uncharacteristically friendly.

They had ended their conversation by the time Tony reached them. He stopped beside Steve to watch Clint’s retreat. “Did I interrupt something?”

Steve shook his head, “We were talking about the Howling Commandos.” And Tony’s eyebrows shot up at that. To say his old team was a sensitive subject for Steve was a massive understatement. “Clint knew Bucky had been a sniper. He was asking about how he worked with the unit.”

“You. Voluntarily talking about Bucky?” Tony’s voice was incredulous.

Steve shot him an annoyed look that faded to a more wistful one, “We didn’t talk about this stuff back then. It happened, you drank yourself into a stupor, and then you moved on.” He touched the spot where Clint had placed his arm, rubbing it almost unconsciously, “It’s nice, being able to talk about him, like it’s not some taboo.”

Tony‘s eyes narrowed, “That’s rather well adjusted of you. You been watching Dr. Phil again?”

Steve shrugged, “Clint had some good points.”

“Yeah. He’s just full of surprises, isn’t he?” Tony responded slowly. He glanced down the hallway, but the archer had long since disappeared, and Tony knew he wouldn’t see him again until they were called out. Barton fit Tony’s expectations about as well as a square peg in a round hole. He was a mystery, frustratingly so, and Tony never did well with mysteries.


	2. Chapter 2

Their weekly strategy meeting was the next day, and by some miracle (and by miracle he meant JARVIS), Tony both remembered the meeting and made it on time. They had missed their last meeting because someone had decided to let loose a hoard of giant robotic rats in downtown Manhattan. But this time around they’re all pretty much in one piece and standing, so the meeting was on.

Steve’s been running the meetings since day one, but today they’re dissecting battle strategies and tactics, and Tony knew he’d been working on this one with Barton. The two of them had been pulling up old team battles for weeks now and hogging the common room TV.

From the kitchen, Tony could see Steve fiddling with his tablet, then flicking the presentation up onto the monitor with an ease that made Tony dance inside. He’d always designed his technology to be intuitive and easy to use, and while Steve’ll never be mistaken as tech savvy, it’s gratifying to see him take to it so quickly.

Tony fixed himself a coffee and grabbed a danish off the counter (thank you, Bruce) before meandering into the living room. He made it a point never to be early, so everyone was already sitting around the living room by the time he walked in. Well, almost everyone.

“How’d Barton get a pass on the meeting?” Tony asked.

Steve looked up from his tablet and did a head check of the room, frowning, “He didn’t.”

“I saw him here last night.” Bruce spoke up, “Maybe he’s running late?”

“Seems to be a common theme.” Tony muttered, and shrugged when Natasha shot him a disapproving look. Tony wouldn’t have expected an agent of SHIELD to be late as often as Barton was, but he had heard often enough that the man didn’t exactly fit the mold of a typical agent.

“Natasha?”

“Not sure.” Natasha shook her head at Steve, “He’s not at SHIELD.”

“JARVIS?” Tony asked.

“Agent Barton is in his quarters.”

Natasha started to get up, but Tony waved her down with a pastry filled hand. “Sit. Relax. I’ll get him.”

He strolled to the elevator, taking another bite of sweet, sweet cherry goodness. Danishes really were the best thing ever. He wondered if it would be feasible to hire a pastry chef for the sole purpose of following him around with a tray of danishes.

Barton’s rooms were two below the common level. He knocked on the door and after a quick moment, the door lock disengaged. Moving briskly through the living room, he stopped just inside the bedroom door, leaning up against the wall and smirking at the body huddled under the covers. The sheets were rumpled and his pillows scattered on either side of the bed. In the center, Barton slept curled up in a ball, just the tip of his hair peeking out from the top of the comforter.

“Time to get up!” Tony announced loudly and the bed covers jumped in surprise.

“Wha..?” Barton mumbled, eyes peeking up at Tony, “’s morning already?”

“Yup. Get your ass out of bed.”

“Ugh…”

“Come on. Up and at ‘im, sunshine.” He grabbed the corner of Barton’s comforter and yanked.

At the slide of his comforter pulling away, Barton jerked fully awake. He made an alarmed squeak and a frantic grab, but it was too late.

Tony gaped, “What the hell happened to you?”

Clad only in his boxers, the bruises on Clint’s body stood out in stark relief. He grabbed the edge of the comforter, tugging it out of Tony’s hands, and glared, “Can you learn to fucking knock?”

“I did.” Tony said, “JARVIS answered.”

“Why is your creepy AI butler letting random people into my bedroom?”

“Well you certainly weren’t answering.”

Clint scowled and collapsed back to the mattress, throwing his forearm over his eyes. “What do you want, Stark?”

Tony tipped his head, looking pointedly at the covers, now drawn up past Clint‘s shoulders. “For you to quit dodging the question. What happened, you forgot your safe word last night?”

Clint laughed, “You realize we’re part of a group of superheroes, right? Avengers. Sound familiar?”

“And do you realize that you look like you jumped out of an airplane without a parachute” Tony countered, “I know we didn‘t beat on you that hard yesterday.”

“Not all of us are surrounded by a suit of armour.” Clint muttered and rubbed a hand over his face, then rolled over with a low grunt. “Fuck, what time is it?”

“It’s now the ungodly hour of 10 am. And about 15 minutes past when you were suppose to meet with the rest of the team.”

“What?” Clint jackknifed up with a curse and grabbed the clock off his bedside table. When he saw the time, he swore again. “Alarm didn’t go off.”

“I find it helps when you set it for AM instead of PM.”

“Yeah, thanks a lot. Now get out so I can change.”

“What are you, shy? Come in your boxers, we’re just meeting upstairs. It’s not like we haven’t seen it all before. Come on, chop, chop, some of us have companies to run.”

Clint gritted his teeth, “Get out.”

“Hurry up.” Tony replied, equally as stubborn.

Clint glared at Tony, but when he didn’t budge, he climbed out of bed. He opened the top drawer of his bedside table, palmed a vial, then stalked to the bathroom. “Gonna watch me while I shower, too?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You ain’t that pretty.” Tony said, “You know, if you’re not feeling well, I’m sure Steve will let you take a half day.”

“We’re not in kindergarten, Stark.”

“Funny, because I think that‘s where you would have learned how to tell time.” Tony called after him.

The finger Barton shot him was pretty clear, but most of his yelled response was lost in the banging around the bathroom. That’s ok. Tony was relatively certain it wasn’t anatomically possible to do what Clint was suggesting anyway.

He waited until he heard Barton step into the shower before he yanked open the top drawer. Hey, it’s his building. He has the right to know if people are using drugs in it.

The drawer was a cluttered mess, but tucked neatly in the back corner was a box of pharmacy vials. He’s been beaten around enough that he recognized most of the painkillers in there and some of them are heavy hitters. There were also a few migraine medications he recognized, because Pepper used them often after shareholder meetings. Or at least at the ones that Tony has shown up to. There were a handful of others than he didn’t recognize, but he pulled them out one by one, memorizing their names to look up later with JARVIS.

He didn’t remember the training session yesterday being that rough on Barton, but he made a note to tell the others to ease up a little.

“Hey.” Clint said from the doorway, and Tony prided himself on not jumping. And because he had no shame, he held up the bottle of Hydromorph Contin with a raised eyebrow and gave it a rattle.

Clint snorted, “Like you have any room to talk. I’ve seen how much you get bounced around in that tin can of yours.”

“Steve know about these?”

“It’s none of his fucking business.” Clint pulled the vial from Tony’s hand and tossed it back into the drawer. At Tony’s look, he rolled his eyes, “Relax, I’ve been taking them for years. They don’t affect my aim.”

Tony shrugged, “For be it for me to advise someone on their drug usage, but at least give him an FYI.”

“Fine, whatever.” Clint gave his hair one last scrub with the towel and tossed it back into the bathroom. “We done with the heart to heart?”

“Only if you‘re ready to go, princess.”

“Well the eyeliner was a bitch, but the mascara covered up most of the smudges.” Clint deadpanned.

Tony let out a surprised snort of laughter. He sent a text to Steve letting him know they were on their way up and almost crashed into Barton when he paused in the doorway.

“Hey, Stark,” Clint started.

Tony raised an eyebrow and guessed, “Don’t tell Natasha?”

He grinned, “Got it in one.”

*

While it may have seemed like Tony spent most of his life screwing around (both figuratively and literally), he actually did have a company to run. Fine, Pepper had a company to run. But he still had to check in every once in a while. And between SI business, R&D, Avengers, and occasionally eating and sleeping, solving Barton ranked pretty low on his list of priorities. Some days, he barely had time to breathe.

On days when the SI Board of Directors couldn’t get their collective heads out of their asses, or when the Army tried to get Tony to start up weapons manufacturing again, or when the third tool in the row malfunctioned, and everything was pressing in up to his eyeballs, Tony escaped to Bruce’s lab.

Bruce was hands down the best thing about the superhero frat house thing he had going on. When Bruce wasn’t a giant green rage monster, the man radiated calm like nobody’s business. Some days, when Tony wanted to tear his skin off for not be able to just stop thinking, being around Bruce had a way of organizing his thoughts.

Years back, there had been rumours in the community of a brilliant physicist with severe anger issues. The upper echelons of the scientific community were too small for Tony not to have heard of Banner, to have read his papers, studied his work. But they had never met and after his accident and subsequent disappearance, he‘d been easily forgotten.

Then SHIELD had come knocking with their little red dossiers stamped CONFIDENTIAL.

It wasn’t the monster that had appealed to Tony, it was the man around it. It was the duality and its delicate balance that had piqued his interest. To be tasked the keeper of that level of unbridled rage. He both envied and feared that ability.

Tony knew rage. Knew regret and guilt and helplessness with an absolute intimacy that would cripple a weaker mind. He knew what it meant to be scared and lonely and have to struggle to bury it underneath. It fascinated him, Bruce’s ability to divorce himself so completely from it, to cover it with a façade so airtight, it evoked a completely different entity when it escaped.

Tony couldn’t imagine the hours of training and work that went into harnessing that level of calm. Trial by necessity, he supposed.

Nowadays, he liked going to Bruce’s lab simple because he was fun to hang around. Didn’t ask a lot of questions, didn’t demand conversation, and well, science.

Bruce was in his usual corner, sitting on a stool and hunched over his latest calculations. He had about 5 tablets and a loose stack of paper scattered around him, a stylus held in the corner of his mouth, and a pencil tucked behind his ear. He looked up at the near silent hiss of the doors.

Quickly catching Tony’s eye, he put a finger to his lips, cutting his off his greeting mid-word. Tony shot him a questioning look and he jerked his head over to Barton, who was tucked into a ball in the corner, sleeping with his head on his knees.

“You taking in strays now?” Tony asked quietly, propping his elbows up on the counter beside Bruce‘s workstation. It appeared he wasn’t the only one to take solace in Bruce’s presence.

Bruce finished scribbling the rest of the line on his equation before glancing over at their team-mate, who was currently curled in front of the window that overlooked the East River and shrugged. “Clint’s normally pretty good company when he‘s conscious.”

Tony hummed noncommittally, flipping one of the tablets towards him and scanning it as he said, “I don‘t know. He’s kind of a loner, isn’t he?” He pointed down at a line. “Your variable are running rampant. Did you account for the change in the base group?”

“You can’t make those things constant.” Bruce swapped out Tony‘s tablet with another one, “Here, it’s better outlined in here. And he is a bit of a mystery, isn’t he?”

Tony snorted, “Understatement much? I feel like I know Thor better and he’s been off planet for months. I get zero from him. Outside training, I’ve probably had five conversations with the guy. And three of those were about what takeout we should get. He’s a fan of Thai, by the way.”

“Who isn’t?” Bruce replied easily. And Tony remembered how Barton had leaned across Bruce’s body to read the menu, his hand steadying the paper just above Bruce’s hand.

Tony’s stare turned calculating. “I wonder if JARVIS can run some info on him. SHIELD should have a pretty good file going.”

“Somehow I don’t think a gross invasion of his privacy is the best way to approach this.”

“Please.” Tony’s tone was patronizing. “If they don’t want me to read it, then they should stop making their network so easy to access. Dedicated firewall hardware and 128-bit symmetric encryption? It’s like they’re practically inviting me into their personnel files.”

Bruce smiled, “Tony, just because we live together doesn’t mean we have to know everything about each other. Everyone has something or other they’d rather keep to themselves.”

“I know,“ He said defensively, “It’s not just that.” Tony put down the tablet, struggling to find the words to explain.

When he’d first invited them to move in, he had imagined it would be something like leasing an apartment. They’d run into each other while getting the mail or catching the elevator. He’d be the creepy landlord who snooped and installed listening devices when stuff broke down in their apartment. And then they’d all go out and save the world every once in a while.

What had transpired, had been different in a way that Tony still couldn’t properly describe. They didn’t see much of each other outside of training, but every once in a while, when they all happened to be home on the same night, they would order a bunch of take-out and sit around eating out of cartons and chatting, taking comfort in the fact that the world didn‘t need saving at the particular moment.

He found that Natasha had surprisingly strong opinions about SI’s environmental politics. And that Steve sometimes chewed with his mouth open. And if he could get Bruce really distracted, half of his food would end up scattered around his plate and on his shirt. It would fall off his chopsticks as he was eating and Bruce wouldn’t even notice and bring the chopsticks to his mouth. Tony always came to dinner armed with scientific journals after he found out that little gem. Barton always came to those nights too, but he remained aloof, watching, politely discouraging conversation. It bothered Tony, but he couldn‘t voice precisely why.

Tony sighed, “It’s not that he isn’t friendly,”

“But you can’t get close.”

“Sort of, yeah. I don‘t know. He radiates these giant keep away vibes, but then he’s always like right up next to you.”

Bruce nodded in agreement, but reasoned, “He did grow up in a rather unconventional manner.”

“Yeah.” Tony tapped his finger on the counter, then shook his head, “Maybe I‘m reading into something that‘s not there.”

“Because that never happens.” Bruce grinned to take the edge off the sting.

Tony snorted and jerked a head over at Barton. “He do this pretty often?”

“Often enough. He lets me use him sometimes for practical experiments. He has amazing spatial and kinetic awareness.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed dryly, snapping his fingers at the unresponsive agent. “Real astounding, I can tell.”

“Well, he sort of limped in here today looking like a puppy caught in the rain, so I had to let him stay. We all need a place to hide out.” Bruce smiles self-depreciatingly.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t woken up yet. Some super spy he makes.” Tony paused, “Or maybe he is awake and listening to us right now.” He raised his voice enough to carry across the room, “Barton sleeps with goats. Natasha is dating Steve. Fury likes to cross-dress.” Tony cants his eyes sideways at Clint for an exaggerated pause.

Bruce stifled a laugh, scribbling another line down and comparing it to his paper notes. “I think you’re safe. He’s pretty out of it. He hasn’t so much as twitched all day. Actually earlier on, I got nervous and had to go over and make sure he was still breathing.”

“He does look a little beat up, doesn’t he. Romanoff must be really giving it to him in bed.”

Bruce tsked at him, “Remember we had that talk about what happens when we start rumours?”

“Assassins will come after me?” Tony asked.

Bruce wagged his stylus at him, “Don’t say I never warned you.”

Tony snickered, but he did made an effort to be quiet. Their resident archer had been looking all sorts of fatigued lately and most mornings, Tony was surprised he managed breakfast without face planting into his cereal. He knew that Steve had noticed and had made discrete inquiries about the activities he’d been up to with SHIELD.

He suspected that one of the things that had attracted Barton to Bruce’s lab, other than the company, was the oversized window seat in the corner of the lab. He had designed Bruce’s lab to feel as open as possible. All glass, floor to ceiling walls and doors. Bulletproof, reinforced, and able to frost for privacy with a push of a button.

The floor and ceiling were also reinforced, with redundancies for the weight bearing built into the walls. It was all a necessity. That, plus the roughly 50 pages of contingencies plans for what to do if Bruce hulked out in the lab. He had to bind it and give copies to all the Avengers and all his R&D personnel before Bruce had agreed to move in. Tony had factored in absolute every scenario he could think of. What he hadn’t factored in, was Clint Barton.

Bruce peered at Tony over his glasses. “So did you come here for a reason? Or just to harass your team-mates?”

“Bruce, I’m shocked and appalled that you think I need a reason to visit my favourite person.”

“Favourite? I’ll be sure to let Pepper know that.”

“Ok, second favourite.” Tony conceded, “So whatcha doing? Can we blow up stuff?”

Bruce nodded a head at the tabletop full of supplies, “I’m doing some experiments. The other guy let Steve pull some tissue samples after the last battle. Blood, saliva, hair. I’m trying to gauge their responses to different levels of radiation and temperature. I could use an extra pair of hands.”

Tony nodded solemnly, “You had me at experiment.”

Bruce handed him his list of experiments and they settled into a rhythm that would take them into the next few hours, prepping samples onto slides, setting up equipment. Slowly, Tony felt the tension of the day seep from of his body.

When it happened, Tony had his back turned. He heard a shout and jerked around in time to see Bruce yank a beaker off the burner. Hot liquid boiled over the side, ran past the edge of his glove, and splashed onto the exposed skin of his wrist. Bruce dropped it in reflex, and the beaker clipped the edge of the countertop on its way down and shattered, sending glass and boiling liquid in all directions.

“Shit!” Tony exclaimed, jumping back, but some of it still managed to splash on him, little droplets burning into his bare skin. He ignored the sudden shock of pain and jumped to the counter, killing the gas to the burner before cranking on the faucet.

On the floor, Bruce, who caught the majority of the contents over his hands and arms, was curled over himself, crouched on the floor with his injured arms pulled in close. He started to shake violently, shoulders tensed, and a wave of green washing over his body. Tony’s mind immediately started going in 50 directions at once, all of them screaming damage control.

He’d forgotten about Clint once they had started in on the experiment and was completely caught off guard until Barton physically body checked Tony out of the way.

“Hit the alarm, shut off the lab equipment.” He ordered and slid to his knees despite the broken glass, planting his hands palms down against Bruce’s skin and gripping hard enough to bruise.

Bruce was gasping, shuddering, green tinged the colour of his skin and his words come out in a low growl, “Get out. Run. Lock down the tower.”

“Bruce, look at me.” Clint pulled his chin up, forcing Bruce to look meet his eyes, “You’re ok, Bruce, hang in there.”

Tony hit the panic alarm to start the lock-down and came back, crouching beside Bruce, hovering while Barton continued to talk as calmly as possible. “Focus on my voice, Bruce. Come on, breath in. Hold. Breath out. Just like that.”

Bruce was shaking violently, strung tighter than a coil. He took a few halting breaths in, then shook his head, trying to push them away, but Clint held on with an iron grip, fingers of one hand spread over Bruce’s cheek, and his other hand gripping his arm above the wrist. Tony grabbed his other side, easing his fingers into Bruce‘s fisted hand and letting him grasp until Tony bones creaked. “Deep breaths, Bruce.” Clint repeated.

Clint continued to count his breathing, and Tony found himself unconsciously joining in, his world narrowed down to the three of them huddled together on the floor. Bruce at the center with clenched fists, gasping harshly, and Clint’s unwaveringly calm voice.

A minute later, they’re still crouched in the same position and Bruce’s breathing has slowed back down to a reasonable level.

Slowly, he cracked an eye open, examining first Tony then Clint. Both were staring back at him, stock still and silent. Barton was still panting a little from the adrenaline.

Bruce blinked, “Why am I not huge and green?”

“Because someone out there loves us?” Tony offered.

Bruce looked down at his arms, just now realizing that Clint was still clutching tightly to him. Clint shrugged sheepishly and let go, his fingers living brief white imprints where they had been pressed into Bruce’s flesh. Underneath, the skin was smooth and unblemished, if a little reddened, but nothing that indicated that it had been doused in scalding water not even a minute ago.

Bruce flexed his hand slowly, testing the skin of his inner wrist where the initial burn had been. He frowned down at it and ran his palm over the spot. “I could have sworn…”

“More surprise than pain?” Clint suggested.

“I guess so” Bruce said slowly and looked at Clint curiously. Clint had a pinched look around his eyes, but he was smiling at Bruce, and if it was a touch manic, Bruce would blame it on the zero to sixty awakening he had received.

Clint leaned back, shoes crunching on the broken glass and looked around at the debris littered across the lab. He commented, his voice still a little shaky, “Man, when you two do lab stuff, you guys really don’t go halfway, do you?”

Tony found a smirk in the midst of his slowly waning adrenaline. “Go science or go home.”

“A little too hardcore for my tastes.” Clint said, accepting Tony‘s hand to pull him to his feet. He winced and held on to him for balance as he brushed some of the glass from the knees of his pants, “Were you guys working on anything toxic?”

“Not today.”

“Good. I think I’ve had enough excitement.” Clint said tiredly. “I’m going to do something less dangerous, like antagonise Natasha. Glad you didn’t rage monster our asses, Bruce.”

Bruce nodded, still looking a little peaky, but much calmer than a minute ago. He held his hand over the place where Clint had grabbed him, running back and forth over the skin.

Tony studied Bruce, perplexed. He had seen the liquid hit his arm, had seen the blisters and scalded flesh that had risen up on the skin. 

He glanced down at his own hand where pinpricks of pain had hit him when the beaker had shattered. There was nothing but smooth, unblemished skin. Not a trace that anything had hit him.

Tony reached out and grabbed the sleeve of Barton’s shirt as he was leaving, halting him in this tracks.

Barton looked down at Tony’s hand with a raised eyebrow then back up at his now thoughtful gaze. “What do you want, Stark?” He asked roughly, but he looked almost weary at Tony‘s sudden attention.

Tony nodded his head back at Bruce, who had fallen quiet behind him. "How did you do that?”

Barton‘s face went instantly blank, “I don‘t know what you‘re talking about.”

“Bullshit, you don’t.” Tony said, voice starting to rise. “We almost became Hulk pancakes, and then suddenly everything's hunky dory? What the hell happened back there?”

“I told you, Stark, I don’t know.” Barton said again, a hint of warning in his voice.

“Right, so I’m supposed to believe that, what, we were saved by magic and fairy dust?”

Barton scoffed, “Believe whatever the hell you want to believe. I don’t fucking care.”

“Barton -”

“Leave it alone.” Barton barked and yanked his sleeve from Tony’s grip, backing away. Before Tony could catch him again, he stalked out from the lab, almost knocking over an incoming Steve in his haste.

Shield in hand, Steve recovered his footing and entered the lab, glancing over his shoulder at Clint’s quickly retreating figure. The sound of the hallway alarm cut off abruptly when the doors slid closed behind him. 

Steve took in the shattered glass and liquid spilled across the floor, and looked back and forth between the two of them, concerned. “Is everyone ok? What happened?”

Tony brushed the flats of his uninjured palms together, before let them drop back down to his side. He shook his head. “I haven’t the slightest clue.”


	3. Chapter 3

Tony was normally pretty open to new experiences. Stark Industries has taken him to some of the most far-reaching places in the world. He’d seen things that would blow people’s minds, sometimes literally. The beautiful, the bizarre, the extremely inappropriate. Overall, he’d like to say that he was pretty adaptable to new situations. That he went into each experience with an open mind, no preconceptions, and took in the atmosphere before he made any judgements.

Cleveland though? Not exactly what he’d call a hospitable environment.

The armour shrilled another warning a split second before Tony saw the incoming projectile. His repulsors flick off dropping him a few feet, safely below the path of the projectile, before they flared on again to stop his fall.

“What the hell are they shooting at us?” Tony shouted over the comms, not really expecting an answer. Steve and Natasha should already be in the building at this point, and Barton was picking off the opposition from the warehouse across the boardwalk, too preoccupied to talk.

He dodged left when the guy got off another shot, then put on a burst of speed to get out of range.

Yep. Cleveland was definitely going on his shitlist.

“JARVIS, find out where that shot came from, correlate it with the others, and start tagging them all. I need you to map out the area AIM’s got their agents spread over. Get me SHIELD’s ETA” Tony ordered, “And then find some fucking lights to turn on; I can barely see. I knew the city was running a deficit, but this is just ridiculous.”

On his next upgrade, Tony was adding floodlights to the suit. Whatever idiot had decided that raiding the base before dawn would be easier was getting fired. So, so fired. AIM had blown out all the streetlamps in the area, and the sun had yet to come over the horizon, so they‘re all pretty much shooting in the dark. The water was barely reflecting enough light over the habour to see.

Luckily, JARVIS had a fix on each of the Avengers and a vague idea of what the warehouse district of the Cleveland harbour front looked like.

“Mapping the area now, Sir.” JARVIS replied and the lower left quadrant of his battle HUD started lighting up.

Tony could probably fix the lighting issue by setting some stuff on fire, but the SHIELD legal team tended to disapprove when Tony started destroying property, even if it was just old warehouses. It had almost come to that point though, because they had no idea how many of AIM’s agents were out there, and they’re coming under heavy fire. At times like these, Tony sorely missed Thor and his unlimited source of lightning.

“Cap?” He shouted, flipping into a midair spin to the right, firing, then retreating back, trying to draw the agents away from the building. It was like a freaking clown car; every time he took some out, more of them spilled out from the squat, four storied building that Steve and Natasha had disappeared into.

The glow from his repulsors made him an easy target in the near darkness, but their guns didn’t do much damage against his armour. Their missiles however, presented a little more of a problem, and Tony was eventually forced to land to avoid getting shot out of the air.

“Cap?” Tony yelled again, “You stop to have coffee or something?”

Steve replied in a whisper, “Almost there. Everything‘s clear so far.”

“Hurry up, they’re multiplying faster than rabbits on Viagra.”

Barton cut in, “Iron Man, on your 10, there’s a group gathering together.”

“I got them. I think.” Tony squinted and shot a repulsor blast, watching as the agents scattered by the meagre light. He shook his head incredulously, “How did you know they were there? Are you actually seeing in the dark? How did we not know you could see in the dark? Bruce, are you recording this?”

“Probably not the best time, Tony.” Bruce’s voice came over the line.

“Are you kidding me? This is an awesome time. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel here. I need something to keep myself from falling asleep.” He ducked another projectile and shot back, the repulsor beam leaving a flash of residual light in his vision.

Natasha’s voice interrupted any response, “Target recovered. ETA five minutes, and we’ll coming out hot.” Over the comm link, he could hear gunshots and the metallic ping of bullets bouncing off vibranium.

Tony’s focus immediately sharpened to attention. “You guys just couldn‘t leave all the fun to us, could you.” Tony replied, his voice overlapping Barton’s barked, “Copy that.”

He fought back towards the entranceway and could see on the HUD that Barton doing the same.

“Banner?” Steve asked over the sound of gunfire.

“The jet is warmed up and waiting.” Bruce replied. “Although I sincerely hope no one is actually expecting me to fly this thing.”

“We’ll be there in 10.” Steve promised, “Iron Man, Hawkeye. Clear us a way out.”

“What do you think we’ve been doing up here?” Tony braced a foot back and shot another repulsor blast, “sitting around scratching our balls?”

“I swear Stark, if you don‘t shut up the commentary, I’m going to hit you.” Barton’s breathing was heavy over the comm, coming out in harsh gasps as he come down off his perch, swinging off the roof, and lithely running across some shipping crates before he hit the ground. He covered the distance between them running half crouched over the wooden docks to where Tony was waiting near the entrance of the building.

Once there, Barton flattened himself up against the wall and glanced up at Tony, as if to ask if he were ready.

Tony responded by loading the missiles in his suit and charging his repulsors. Also soon as Natasha and Steve were clear, they were blowing this joint. Then Tony was adding Cleveland to the list of places he would never set foot in again.

They were in position to cover their exit when Steve swore and yelled out, “Change of plans, we’re coming out the window. Third floor, northeast corner. Now.”

Tony had just enough time to catch the silhouette in front of the window by the pre dawn light before the glass was shattered and Steve came hurtling out, shield first. Natasha followed a second later through the gap he‘d made. Immediately, Tony shifted power to his repulsors and blasted off the boardwalk towards them, splintering several of the wooden planks.

“JARVIS?” Tony yelled as he pushed the suit’s flight capacity to its limits.

“There are three hostiles at the third floor window, and twenty-two more spread across the harbour front.”

JARVIS had locked on both figures the instant they appeared. He could make the distance between them, but his suit wasn’t designed to take on an additional passenger, let alone two. Despite this, he grabbed both of them as they fell, but since Steve was holding AIM’s latest weapon in his hands in addition to the shield, he couldn’t get a good grip on Natasha.

A bullet ricocheted off Tony’s helmet, nearly grazing Steve. Natasha twisted to return fire at the AIM agents in the window and Tony lost his grip on her.

She dropped to the concrete. They were close enough to the ground that the fall wasn’t fatal, but her landing was awkward and her ankle twisted underneath her. The snap was audible enough for Tony’s suit microphones to pick up.

A few more feet and Tony let go of Steve, who dropped and rolled back up running for their exit. Natasha straightened and tried to follow, limping heavily, but could only take a step before she stumbled. Tony was about to turn back, but Barton had caught up to the group just in time to catch her arm and keep her from tumbling to the ground.

Instead of following the others, he threw her arm across his shoulders and half-dragged her to the closet cover, a dumpster on the side of AIM‘s building. Bullets clanged against the rusty metal between them. They wouldn’t have much time before the AIM agents were on them.

Tony and Steve made it to the end of the street and rounded the corner. The alleyway that continued on in front of them would take them to directly to the clearing where Bruce was waiting with the Quinjet. For now though, Steve pressed himself against the wall, out of the line of bullets, while Tony peered back the corner.

The pair of assassins were out of sight behind the dumpster but, Tony realized with a jolt of adrenaline, there was no return fire coming from their direction.

“Hawkeye, Widow. What’s your situation?” Steve asked into the comms.

No answer.

“There’s something wrong. I’m going back.” Tony said, “Get to the Quinjet.”

Steve shook his head, “They’ll need cover.”

Tony looked pointedly at AIM’s weapon clutched under Steve‘s arm, “That thing catches one stray bullet and the whole place could go up in flames.”

Steve adjusted his shield to the ready and levelled a look at Tony, “Forget it, Tony. I’m not leaving without them.”

Team leader or not, Tony was going to going to beat him over the head with a stick when they got back. But from the set of Steve’s jaw, Tony knew he wasn’t going to win. This is what he got for working with noble idiots who had zero sense of self preservation.

“Stay here. Don’t let that thing out of your sight. I’ll yell when I’ve got them.” Tony ordered, leaving no room for argument and took off after the two assassins. AIM soldiers had been advancing fast around the dumpster, but they fell back against Tony’s repulsor blasts.

He found them huddled in the corner that the dumpster and wall made. Natasha was sitting on the ground with Barton crouched beside her, his hand clasped around the back of her neck, his eyes closed and his head dipped like he was about to pull her in for a kiss.

“Are you kidding me?” Tony screeched, as AIM closed in on their location. “You guys are doing this now? What part of heavy gunfire, do you not understand?”

That was enough to snap them out of their little romantic tryst, fucking seriously he was going to strangle them, assassins were so weird, and _why the hell_ was Natasha glaring at _him_?

“What’s going on?” Steve’s voice crackled over the comm.

Natasha rose to her feet, not a hint of a wince to betray her injury. “Nothing, Cap. We’re on our way.”

Tony reached out to pick her up, but she pulled back with a shake of her head. Natasha tested out her ankle and gave Barton a sharp nod. It would hold. Tony had _literally_ heard it snap not even 5 minutes ago. Jesus, that woman was a machine.

The AIM agents have swarmed into the street between the two buildings, and they have no choice but to fight their way out. Tony signalled Steve, and he stepped out and started laying down cover fire in the form of a very large Frisbee. With their enemies’ attention briefly occupied, the trio moved out from behind the dumpster.

Natasha and Barton fought back to back, having perfected their system years ago. He’d be jealous, but Tony’s got JARVIS to watch his back and that was better than any human, in his opinion.

They’re halfway there when Tony heard a shout and out of the corner of his eye he saw Barton go down hard to the pavement, locked in battle with an AIM agent. They both went crashing to the floor, weapons scattering across the concrete. The agent who went down with him scrabbled up before Barton could, and whipped a hypodermic, driving it into the upper flesh of his arm.

Barton howled in pain and jerked his shoulder back, kicking out with his feet to dislodge his opponent. The AIM agent held on, pining him with a hand fisted around Barton’s throat and tried to inject the contents of the syringe.

Natasha kicked it out of his hand before he could, and dispatched Barton’s attacker with ease. She reached for Clint, a rare mistake on Natasha’s part, because it distracted her for just long enough for an agent to leap at her from behind, catching her in the side of the neck with another hypodermic and plunging its contents into her muscle.

She grabbed the agent’s wrist as he pulled back the needle, using it to gain enough leverage to thrust him to the pavement. Driving her knee into his back, she reached forward and snapped his neck with a snarl. But when she tried to get back up, Natasha faltered. She took a stumbling step to the side and collapsed to the ground.

Tony dropped the other three AIM agents in their immediate vicinity. Barton reached Natasha first, one hand clamped over the injection site at her neck. Tony hauled him to his feet and grabbed Natasha, heaving her up and over his shoulder.

“Run, you idiot!” Tony shouted, shoving Barton back and using his free hand to fire indiscriminately at the remaining agents, covering his exit the best he could.

They made it to the adjacent street and Steve grabbed Natasha, having handed the weapon off to Clint. They took off at a run, and Tony stayed behind to stop anyone from following down the alleyway. Once he saw the Quinjet take off, he blasted off as well, catching up easily.

The back of the Quinjet opened once he got close enough to land inside. “That was way too close for my liking.“ Tony commented, flipping up his face mask.

“Might not be over yet.” said Steve in a tight voice. He kneeled by Natasha’s head, peeling back an eyelid, while Banner opened up the med kit beside him.

Tony’s stomach dropped. “What’s wrong?”

Steve shook his head. “We‘re not sure. She’s still breathing on her own, but she’s not responding to outside stimuli, and her pulse is up much higher than it should be. Whatever they injected, she‘s trying to fight it off.”

And indeed, once Tony had gotten closer, he could see the fine beads of moisture that were gathering on Natasha’s skin. Her muscles had also began to shake, minute tremours that rolled up and down her entire frame. She started to lose colour in her face, a pinched look coming over it.

“Go check on Clint.” Steve ordered as he and Bruce tended to Natasha. “I saw him go down, and the last thing we need is the Quinjet crashing. We have to get Natasha back to the Helicarrier as quickly as possible.”

Tony ducked his head under the bulkhead. It was a tight fit with the armour on. Pulling his helmet off, he dropped it into the co-pilot seat and leaned into the space between the two chairs.

“What’s our ETA to the helicarrier?” he asked before glancing down at Clint and frowning, “Barton, you look like a stiff wind’s going to blow you over. You sure you’re okay to fly this thing?”

“Fuck off Stark, I’m fine.” Barton said through gritted teeth, flicking a couple switches overhead, then resumed his position at the yoke, taking a glance at their speed. He was shaky and pale, his skin almost grey in tone, but he was still conscious, which put him one up on Natasha. His voice was steady as he told Tony, “Fifty minutes max. Forty-five if I push it.”

“Do it. We need to call ahead, let them know to have a medical team prepped.” Tony said.

“What? Why?” Barton whipped he head around to face Tony, pulling off the headset, “Is Nat still unconscious?”

“Looks like it. Steve and Bruce are with her right now.” Tony cast a critical eye over Barton, “How bad are you hurt?”

“I told you, I’m fine.” Barton said, flipping the controls over to autopilot. He doubled checked their flight path and told Tony, “Take the controls.”

“Where are you going?”

“Bungee jumping.” Barton responded flippantly, “Get out of my way.”

Tony protested and gestured to his suit, “I can’t take over the Quinjet. There’s no way I can land it wearing this.”

“Then take it off.” demanded Barton, fumbling with his harness. It took him a few tries, and his hands were shaking by the time he finally unbuckled the latch. He pulled it off harder than he needed to in frustration and said, “I’m going back there.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Barton.” Tony refused to move from his spot between the two chairs, blocking Barton’s way. “You‘re going to get everyone killed.”

“We have 40 minutes until we land. I need to see Nat right now. Take the damn controls.”

“Steve and Bruce are with her. What are you going to do that they can‘t, Barton?” Tony challenged, eyes flashing.

Barton ground his teeth together. “Just move, Stark.”

“What are you going to do?” Tony argued. He was tired of playing games, “Is it the same thing you did back at the dumpster? The same thing you did to Bruce? What are you keeping from us?”

“It is none of your fucking business.” Barton fired back.

“The hell it isn’t. If I’m going to trust you to watch my back, I don’t need you keeping secrets. That little stunt back there almost got you killed. It almost got Natasha killed.”

“Shut your damn mouth.” Barton got to his feet, standing toe to toe with Tony. In the armour, Tony had almost a full head on Barton, but he wasn’t backing down. “There are things you can‘t understand.”

“I’m a genius, I sure I can figure it out.”

“I don’t need you to figure it out.” Barton snarled. He jabbed a finger into the centre of Tony’s chest, directly above the arc reactor, “I know you‘ve been spying on me and digging into my past.”

Tony shoved his hand away, “Well, the last guy I blindly trusted came around and ripped a hole out of my chest, so excuse me for being a little paranoid.”

“Is that what you think I’m going to do? Put an arrow through your chest?”

“I don’t know.” Tony replied, “Kinda hard, trusting an assassin.”

Barton’s voice grew cold. He sneered at Tony, “If I wanted to kill you Stark, I would have done it a long time ago. I wouldn’t even need to get close.”

“Hey!” Steve commanded, appearing at the bulkhead. “That is enough.”

Barton ignored him. In a low growl, he said, “Tony, I swear to god, if you don’t move right now-”

Tony snorted, “What? You’ll flail at me? I‘m standing in a literal suit of armour. Do your best.”

Barton planted his feet and shoved, both hands flat against his chest plate. It didn’t cause Tony to move back more than a foot, and he would have grabbed Barton and manhandled him back into the pilot’s chair, but Steve came up behind them, yanking them apart and demanding, “What is going on here? What on Earth are you two shouting about?”

“Yeah, tell him Barton.” Tony goaded, and Barton snarled back at him, flushed and breathed heavily.

Steve‘s lips pursed, “Look, I’ve already got one team member down. I don’t need the two of your fighting like cats and dogs on top of that.” He glared at each other them in turn, “Clint, I need you to radio the hellicarrier and tell them we’re coming. Tony, can you access any of the feeds from battle? We need to find out what was in that syringe. No more fighting, or I will have you both written up. Got it?”

Tony muttered an affirmative and Steve turned to Barton.

“Clint?” Barton was gripping on to the back of the pilot’s chair, eyes becoming unfocused. Steve frowned, “Clint? Can you hear me?”

Barton took a shuffled step forward, then his eyes rolled up in his head and he fell to the deck, unconscious.

“Damn it!” Steve dropped to his knees next to Barton. He flipped him onto his back and checked his airway, then looked up at Tony and said, “I sure hope you know how to fly this thing.”

Tony sighed and dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling, “Can this day get any worse? No, don‘t answer that.” Tony said to Steve, who was opening his mouth, no doubt to reprimand him, and then he raised his voice loudly enough to be heard in the back, “Bruce, grab a screwdriver.”

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr: [peppermintwhisp](http://www.peppermintwhisp.tumblr.com)


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